While the Angels Walk with the Lonely Ones
by OoZolaoO
Summary: AU. Santana Lopez works at a club in Los Angeles, pouring drinks and trying not to remember her life in Lima. But even in the City of Angels, she never expected to fall in love. Especially with a stripper. Brittana.
1. Chapter 1

****_Where the Angels Walk with the Lonely Ones_

Santana Lopez whisks her hair out of her face and glares at the last of the dirty dishes from the dinnertime rush. She bites her lip and gouges at the surface of a shot glass with her thumbnail.

"Damn spots," she mutters under her breath, shoving the glass to the side with a soft huff of frustration.

"Slow night?" A red-haired man in his late twenties slides onto a barstool across from her. His black bouncer's polo exposes his well-muscled arms as he leans lazily against the counter.

Santana sighs. "You have no idea, Robert." She wads up her dishtowel and throws it down. "I've literally had ten customers in the past four hours." Santana glances at her watch: ten past midnight. Less than two hours left in her shift.

Robert grins and taps the counter. "Everyone's too busy drooling over tonight's show to drink." He jerks his head, and Santana follows his gaze. The dimly-lit bar ends in a wide archway that many customers call the "gates to paradise." On the other side of the arch, a massive circular stage dominates the room, surrounded by shallow stadium-style seating. Dozens of tables are crammed in haphazard rings, battling for a good view of the stage.

Santana can see the lithe female shapes from here, illuminated by dramatic stage lighting as they twine around poles and scale thick-barred cages. "Are there new dancers, then?" She asks Robert only semi-curiously, absently folding and re-folding her crumpled dishcloth.

"Hell yeah." Robert's grin widens. "But they're not just _dancers_, they're..." he gestures wildly, his words failing him.

Santana quirks a small smile. "Gotten any numbers yet?"

Robert's smile falls a little, and he shrugs. "Nope. They're too good for someone of my likes. Or so they said," he adds.

Santana goes back to drying and stacking shot glasses, only halfway listening as Robert continues to rhapsodize. Lost in the rhythmic clink of glass, it takes her a moment to realize he's talking to her.

"Hmm?" She casts her gaze over her shoulder. Robert remains nonplussed by her lack of interest.

"Come with me!" He stretches his hand palm-up onto the bar. "Maybe you'll see someone who strikes your fancy." He winks at her infuriatingly.

"Just because I'm single doesn't mean I _need_ to date someone," Santana grumbles, but she takes Robert's hand anyway. The burly bouncer grins at her and tugs her out from behind the bar.

The two of them lean against the back wall of the club, just inside the archway: their favorite spot to lurk. Santana flicks a gaze at Robert, then back to the bar. "If I get fired for leaving my post..." He ignores her.

"See the brunette on the end, with the handcuffs?" He nudges Santana. "Her name is Lillian. She has a girlfriend." He waggles his eyebrows at her. "The red-head behind her - wait for it - on top of her is Chanel, and the black chick is Ebony."

Santana follows the new strippers with her eyes, tracing their paths around the stage. "They're not all _that_ different," she says. "I mean, I've never seen that bit with the handcuffs before, but strippers are strippers." She shrugs.

Robert looks affronted. "They're _dancers_," he corrects her. "Much more classy."

Santana rolls her eyes. "I'm going back to the bar."

"Wait." Robert's hand catches her shoulder. "Just...wait." He's watching the stage intently.

"I really - "

"Santana. Way-ee-tuh," he drawls out the word with a meaningful glance, and Santana crosses her arms, growling discontentedly.

"I've seen them, Rob," she hisses under the music. It's changing - light, techno beats melt into heavy bass, and the lights take on a blue cast. Fog hisses across the stage, covering the floor and the first few rows of the audience. Santana is about to call them out on their sickening cheesiness when the dancers split to reveal a new figure. She's tall, she's blonde, and she moves like liquid sex. Santana feels her heart racing, and she licks her suddenly dry lips. To her left, Robert lets out a soft moan.

"They call her Duckie, but I heard Ebony call her Brittany." He too is dry-mouthed and flushed. His hand is creeping obscenely down towards his waistband; Santana, for once, is too enraptured to call him out.

Duckie - or Brittany - is a goddess on the stage. She flows through the synthetic fog like sunlight, and the other girls fall easily into the background. The blonde is wearing green strapless lingerie studded with silver bits that catch the light and send it bouncing off in all directions. Santana feels another shiver go down her spine as she realizes Brittany is barefoot.

"I...should probably go back," she breathes after a moment, snapping out of her trance and looking back at the bar. Mercifully, several men are drifting back in from the stage to quench their less carnal thirsts. Santana takes one last glance at Brittany grinding against a pole and high-tails it back to her post, mentally calling up images of dead kittens and other non-sexual things. This was going to be a long night.

* * *

><p>It's almost four days later when Santana finally gets the courage to talk to Brittany.<p>

She's been watching the blonde both on- and off-stage, even volunteering for later shifts so she can watch the dancers as they check out for the night and head out for drinks. So far, she has learned a series of very important facts.

_One_: Brittany prefers the green lingerie, but she also has stunning sets of royal blue, pearly gray, and electric yellow.

_Two: _She likes to braid feathers into her hair, and had liked to long before the hipster population of LA took up the trend.

_Three_: She has a total of six piercings - two on each earlobe, one cartilage, and one on her left tragus. Santana suspects she has a belly button ring as well, but she has yet to see proof.

It takes Santana a total of four days to realize that her strategy of careful sleuthing isn't getting her any closer to Brittany. It takes Robert less than two hours.

"You're being an idiot, Lopez," he tells her during another slow night as he knocks back a glass of gin and tonic. Santana just wants to know if he's going to pay for it.

It's certainly not like her to take her time about something like this. Santana goes out and she gets what she wants. Even the other staff members are starting to take notice.

_ "What on earth are you waiting for, an excuse to give her mouth-to-mouth or something?"_

_ "Go lay your lips on her, girlfriend. Show her that Lopez spirit."_

The younger waiters are particularly aggressive about the situation. Kurt has stunning blue-grey eyes and chiseled features that his dark-eyed-dark-haired boyfriend Blaine cannot seem to keep his eyes off of. Santana settles for blowing them both off whenever they come hanging around the bar, but she can't ignore the fact that Kurt's making a lot more sense than she is.

When she finally forces herself into conversation with Brittany, it's not exactly a monumental occasion. She's wiping up a puddle of vodka when a well-manicured hand taps her on the shoulder. She spins around and nearly falls over when she finds herself staring into a large pair of bright blue eyes.

"Hi," Brittany greets her a little shyly, twining her fingers together on the counter. Her pearly lingerie is attracting the gazes of more than a few men at the bar. "Can I get a tray of margaritas for backstage, please? Extra salt, extra booze."

Santana thinks she stammers over a 'sure,' but she's not entirely sure. All she remembers is Brittany smiling warmly at her as she accepts the drinks, then winking at her as she glides away.

That night as the bar is closing, Brittany comes by Santana's post again with the empty tray. "Thanks for the drinks," she says, but this time she hangs around.

"No problem. You girls looked great up there tonight," Santana adds, then mentally kicks herself. Really, Lopez? Really?

But Brittany just smiles at her. "Really? That's awesome to hear. It was a tough crowd." She makes a face, then bursts into a smile again. _Good god, her smile is totally infectious._

"I'm Brittany, by the way," she offers, placing her hand palm-up on the bar.

"Santana." Santana touches her fingers to Brittany's, and in a flash of daring, pulls them to her lips for a gentle kiss. Brittany just giggles.

"You're cute," she purrs, low and sexy, and then slips away.

* * *

><p><strong>AN;** Not gonna lie, there isn't much hotter in my mind than stripper!Brittany. So, naturally, I _had_ to bring Santana into the picture somehow! Can't you just see her pouring drinks in a bar somewhere, flirting with patrons and trying not to remember her life in Ohio?

Anyway, like you guys, I've been frustrated with the lack of onscreen Brittana this season, so I'm taking out my creative feelings by writing. I have a good proportion of this fic outlined, so hopefully it'll get farther than a lot of my WIPs have.

I love hearing from my readers! You can find me on tumblr at **amerrybritt-mas**, or on livejournal as **findyourstars**. And sometimes when I'm procrastinating I take requests :3

Cheers!

[title is from 'Fader' by the Temper Trap]


	2. Chapter 2

_While the Angels Walk with the Lonely Ones_

It's two weeks after their first encounter, and Santana has gotten used to her nightly chats with Brittany. They fall into a bit of a routine - Brittany is the only girl who comes to get drinks for the dressing rooms, and Santana paces her shift so she isn't busy when the dancers are on break.

Tonight is one of the crazier nights at McClaren's, and Brittany leans up against the bar in the place of an empty stool. Santana feigns nonchalance as she pours another round of rum and coke for a group of giggly college coeds in the corner. Brittany smiles as she sweeps back around.

"God, don't ever send me back to college," Santana groans, shooting a glare over at the girls, who are now posing in awkward iPhone self-shots.

"Did you go to college, then?" Brittany flips her hair over her shoulder.

"Yeah, I went to Boston University for undergrad. Really only got in 'cause I'm Latina." She rolls her eyes. "I majored in chemistry, but you can see how far that got me."

Brittany bites back a smile. "Chemistry, huh? I'd hate to see you putting your degree to use at a bar. Remind me to stay away from your mixed drinks," she teases.

Santana laughs a little self-consciously. "I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. My dad's a doctor, so I figured I might as well see what that had to offer." She shrugs. "Didn't exactly work out."

"Where are you from?" Brittany cocks her head. "Boston and Los Angeles aren't exactly next door neighbors."

"No kidding," Santana says dryly. "I'm originally from Ohio, but I wanted to get out of Bumblefuck, USA, so I headed north. And then I ended up here. I don't really know how," she finishes, tapping her fingers absently against the bar. Brittany is watching her with curious eyes, and Santana feels herself blush a little bit. "What about you then, how'd you end up in LA?"

Brittany shrugs. "I don't really have much of a story. Grew up in San Francisco and tried college, but I wanted to be a dancer, so that didn't last long. It was only a matter of time before I ended up here." She gestures vaguely to the bar around them, and Santana arches an eyebrow.

"A smoke-filled bar in the armpit of Los Angeles," she says flatly. "Big dreams there."

Brittany swats half-heartedly at her, but she's smiling. "I don't know, okay? I just know that I belong in the City of Angels, always have." She snorts softly. "If I have to work in a couple of armpits to pay the bills, so be it."

"Have you ever been to New York?" Santana asks, leaning forward onto the bar so that she and Brittany are inches apart. "It's _tons_ better than here."

Brittany shakes her head. "You've been, I'm guessing?"

"_Oh_ yeah. I could have lived in New York - almost did. Plus in Boston, I was living closer than I'd ever been, so I went whenever I had a few dollars and some wheels." She pauses. "It's a great big world, and you don't really realize it until you've been there a couple of times and you _still_ don't really know where you are."

"LA's like that," Brittany puts in. "Plus we don't freeze our asses off every winter."

Santana shrugs. "I still prefer NYC."

"Why, 'cuz it rains two-thirds of the year?" Brittany snorts. "So you all grow gills and webbed feet?"

She squeezes in her cheeks and makes a fish-face, and Santana finds she can't breathe for laughing so hard. It's then that Ebony comes over to fetch her castmate, and Brittany reluctantly removes herself from the bar. Santana's about to say goodbye when Brittany suddenly moves back in, putting her face right up beside Santana's.

"Want to get a drink after work?" she breathes, her voice brushing Santana's ear. "The girls and I are going over to The Element. It's a Thursday night tradition."

"Tonight's Tuesday."

"We can start a new tradition, then," Brittany says breezily, pulling away a little. Her eyes are big and bright and _fuck_ they're blue, and Santana knows she never had a chance in hell.

"I'd love to," she replies, and the glow that leaps onto Brittany's face is worth the exhaustion and hangover she knows she'll drag herself through tomorrow.

"Awesome. I'll come get you at closing." She grins, and flounces off with Ebony. Brittany's wearing a sheer robe over her royal blue lingerie, and it's _unreal_ how good her ass looks. Santana surreptitiously checks her chin (no drool, thank god) and reluctantly drags herself back to pouring drinks.

* * *

><p><strong>an: **I have been absolutely astonished with the amount of positive feedback I've been getting in the last three days! It makes me feel better about writing weird AUs. also, I know this chapter is short. Please don't shoot me.

(secret that might make you happier: I'm basing my mental image of B off HeMo & 'Slave 4 U' at Glee Live. If you haven't seen pictures, GO TO GOOGLE RIGHT NOW. they will change your life. she is a sexy, sexy beast.)

I'm trying to get this story written and published as fast as I can, but between now and Christmas is absolutely crazy. I can't promise an update before this weekend, but I _will_ try for early next week. I have a lot of later scenes already written out and edited, so it's really just writing filler for the moment.

perpetual reminder that I don't own Glee, that you can find me on Tumblr (amerrybritt-mas) and Livejournal (findyourstars), and that Brittana is canon and everything is happy and good in the world. Have a wonderful holiday season, my darlings!


	3. Chapter 3

_While the Angels Walk with the Lonely Ones_

The next two hours are the slowest of Santana's life. She checks her watch every couple of minutes, hoping against hope that somehow the minute hand would take a hint and hurry along. The bar's too busy for her to sneak away and watch Brittany perform, and Robert is nowhere to be found.

Santana's on the verge of starting a fight (just for something to do) when one of the young waiters moseys over to her post.

"Hi, Santana!" Blaine greets her cheerily, leaning up against the bar with a goofy grin plastered across his face. "What's up?"

"Cleaning, or I _was _until you came around and smeared up my bar." Santana smacks him across the forearms with her dishtowel. Blaine withdraws, nonplussed.

"I'm having a great night," he remarks, staring up at the lights with a sort of dazed wonder that Santana only ever sees in poets or the highly intoxicated.

Santana's just bored enough that she takes the bait. "Why?"

Blaine sighs dreamily. "Kurt," he replies.

Santana cuts him off right there. "Listen, lover boy," she starts, working herself up into full-on bitch mode, "the _last_ thing I need right now is to have you sliming your ooey-gooey love all over here. I'm cleaning," she repeats, almost as an afterthought.

Blaine's eyes widen. "Who spit in your vodka?" He asks, and Santana lets out a groan as he parks his well-clad ass on a barstool. Blaine arches an eyebrow at her. "I'm serious! Tonight's a lovely night - what has you all negative?"

"I'm always negative," Santana replies, but her heart isn't in it, and Blaine obviously catches it, and cocks his head.

"What are you doing after work tonight?" Blaine asks slowly, his attempt at 'casual' missing by a mile.

"Stuff," Santana replies, snapping her dishtowel with a sharp _crack_ that makes her compatriot jump. "Normal Tuesday-night stuff."

"Does it involve a certain stripper?"

"She's a _dancer_, and - hold up a moment," Santana stops short, scowling, as a grin lights up Blaine's olive features. "Who told you?"

"You, just now," Blaine chuckles, obviously pleased with himself. Santana deflates with a sigh and plonks her elbows down onto the bar.

"What do I _do_, Blanders?" Her vitriol has vanished, and her brown eyes are dark and pleading. "I haven't dated anyone since, like, abolitionists were hipster, and I don't know the first thing about wooing someone like Brittany."

"Aww, is that her name?" Blaine's smile quickly dies as Santana snaps him a glare. He clears his throat and tries again. "What _are_ you doing after work, then?"

"Just a drink. She's inviting me out with her and the girls."

Blaine shrugs. "I mean, sounds promising to me." He holds up his palms in defense as Santana's glare sharpens. "Honestly...I'm not very good at romance. Before Kurt, I'd never really been anyone's _boyfriend_ before. So I don't know what I can tell you, really."

"Great," Santana sighs, flaring her fingers dramatically. "I'm being schooled in romance by a complete amateur. This is gonna be just _swell_."

Blaine shrugs again. "I never said I wasn't good moral support." He tugs absently at his collar, incidentally baring another few inches of his neck. Santana's eyes widen as she catches sight of a pale - but unmistakable - circular bruise near Blaine's collarbone.

"Get in a fight with your vacuum cleaner, did you?" She asks casually, tapping her signet ring against the counter.

"Did I...what?" Blaine's eyebrows lift until they've all but vanished beneath a layer of stray curls. He's looking at Santana like she's on crack, and she gleefully bites her lip.

"Right here," she reaches over and gently flicks at the hickey. "It must have been a rather..._heated_ battle."

Blaine goes absolutely scarlet, all the way to the tips of his ears. "I should, um, probably get back to work," he says hurriedly, clutching his collar tightly to his neck and fleeing the scene.

"Tell Hummel he's got a great set of teeth!" Santana yells after him, cackling to herself as Blaine hunches his shoulders and ducks into the other room.

"What was that all about?" The soft chuckle from behind her stops Santana's heart, and she whirls to find Brittany leaning against the bar.

"Blaine and Kurt. They're ridiculous." Santana rolls her eyes fondly. Brittany smiles.

"Yeah, they're pretty cute together," she replies. A mischievous glint sneaks into her blue eyes, and she leans across the counter, beckoning Santana closer. She obliges. "Sometimes they sneak backstage to get it on when they think we're not around. Which we usually are," Brittany adds off-handedly. "They're adorably awkward. But it's also kind of hot."

Santana bites back a swallow as Brittany's eyes latch onto hers. "Yeah," she manages. "So, um, what are you doing? You're not in your, um-"

"Lingerie?" Brittany replies dryly. Her eyes glitter as she catches the blush creeping onto Santana's cheekbones. "Yeah, we actually got off early for the night. Massie had to leave, or something," she added, naming the shrewd older woman who handles McClaren's entertainment.

"You're done, then?" Santana can't help the way her eyes wander down Brittany's body. She's dressed in a plaid flannel shirt over skinny jeans and tall black boots. Her legs look amazing. _Big surprise there_.

"Yes ma'am," Brittany drawls, lazily tying her hair into a braid. "I figured I'd come and entertain you until you were ready to take off for our grand adventure."

"Are we not going out for drinks?" Oh god, that sounded completely idiotic. Santana swears her IQ drops fifty points every time Brittany comes around. It's humiliating. Thankfully Brittany seems to find it adorable.

"No, we are. If you're still up for it." Brittany pauses to shoot her a questioning glance.

"No, yeah, I definitely am. I've been looking forward to it," Santana adds, pleased when Brittany's pale lips quirk in a smile.

"Me too. It's going to be a lot of fun. The girls can't wait to meet you." Brittany flicks her a wink that sends Santana's heart plummeting down into her toes. Or maybe it's taken up residence in her throat - she can feel her pulse thrumming in her now-scarlet cheeks.

"It'll be nice to talk to them off-stage," she finally says.

Brittany hums softly in response. "I don't want to rush you or anything, but when do you get off work?" She asks, crossing her legs at the ankle.

Santana checks her watch and winces. "Not for another half hour."

"I'm fine to wait," Brittany shrugs flippantly, but Santana's not having that. She glances around the smokey bar until she catches sight of Blaine, chatting with Kurt as the two pass orders back to McClaren's limited kitchen. She catches Blaine's eye and jerks her head in a summons, adding an impatient glare as Blaine hesitates.

"Yes?" He asks, once he's made his way over to the bar. Kurt has followed, and he folds his arms absently on Blaine's shoulder in a casual display of affection that makes Santana smile (just a little bit).

"Big favor," Santana hisses, pulling Blaine to the side and out of Brittany's earshot. "Can I get you to hold the bar for the next thirty minutes?"

Blaine looks like he's about to protest, and Santana latches onto his forearm. "Please, Blaine?" she whispers, dropping the aggression. His eyes flick over her shoulder to Brittany.

"Santana - I wish I could, but I have my hands full," he replies.

"I could do it," Kurt pipes in. Santana's eyes widen.

"Would you? That would be _amazing_. I'd owe you big time, like anytime you need to get into the storage rooms in the back to, I dunno, getchasome, or if you-"

Kurt holds up a delicately manicured hand to silence her. "While I would _love_ to hear you babble on about all the favors you'd owe me," he says dryly, "take this one on the house. But be sure to give us all the juicy details tomorrow," Kurt adds, giving a salacious wink.

"Yessir." Santana almost kisses him on the cheek, but she decides that's probably not the best course of action. She makes do with giving him a quick side-hug instead, then skips back over to Brittany.

"Okay, Kurt's going to take the bar for me," Santana says breathlessly. "So we can go."

Brittany positively beams. "Awesome! Then grab your purse, Miss Lopez - you're gonna see Los Angeles like you've never seen it before." Once Santana has her jacket and clutch, Brittany hooks her arm through hers and leads her merrily out the door. Santana manages to mouth _'thank you'_ over her shoulder to Kurt before she's out in the night, the celestial stars of Los Angeles sparkling above her head.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** And welcome back to our regularly-schedule programming! I hope you guys had a marvelous Christmas and New Year - I figured I would start 2012 off right by kicking my lazy butt into action and writing another chapter.

Also, if you can't tell, I adore Klaine. It was my first Glee ship :') Ohhh I was such a naive fan back then. Back before I discovered Tumblr.

Anyways, as always, check me out on tumblr and livejournal! Links are on my profile. I'd love to talk to you guys :)

Thanks so much for reading! You guys mean the world to me. Peace&Love&Brittana.


	4. Chapter 4

_While the Angels Walk with the Lonely Ones_

The Element is larger and better designed than McClaren's, giving it an open feel that Santana certainly isn't used to in bars. She and Brittany had arrived with four of Brittany's co-workers; by the way the girls had flirted with the man checking IDs, they're definitely regulars. Sure enough, the girls scope out a table with shrewd familiarity, picking a locale not too far from the bar, but out of range of the rowdy patrons up against the counter. Santana's just slid into her seat when Brittany lays a hand on her shoulder to catch her attention.

"Are you enjoying being on this side of the bar for once?" she laughs, pitching her voice over their surroundings.

Santana grins. "You know it," she replies, playfully flicking at Brittany's fingertips.

"Yeah, Santana, how long have you been at McClaren's?" Santana and Brittany turn their attention back to the other girls at the table, albeit reluctantly. The speaker, a cat-eyed brunette who goes by the stage name Bubbles, folds her hands expectantly.

Santana clears her throat. "Two years."

"Bubbles" arches an elegant eyebrow. "Have you always been in the...'bartending' business?"

"_Olivia_," another girl swats at her. "Be nice." She turns apologetic eyes to Santana. "Sorry, dear. So where are you from?"

"You don't _look_ like a native Angel," Olivia puts in.

Santana curls her toes under the table. "Lima, Ohio," she replies, her voice a sigh.

It's her questioner's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Smalltown, USA, then?"

"More like Bumblefuck," Santana shoots back. Laughter ripples around the table, and Brittany makes a face from Santana's left.

"I guess I haven't introduced you to the girls," she says. "I don't think we want to use our, um, stage names here." The other girls groan. Apparently stage names aren't exactly the best part of the job.

Brittany smiles, light and easy in a way that sends Santana's heart into a bizarre medley of gymnastics. "Santana, meet my girls. Olivia, Rose, Meghan, and Alex. And Alex's girlfriend," she adds. A petite Asian girl seated next to Santana's questioner wiggles her fingers in a short wave, then clasps them with her partner's.

"Anna," she introduces herself.

"Santana," she replies, a little redundantly.

"Brittany!" Her companion crows, making them all laugh again.

"Enough chatter, I'm here to _drink_." Rose slams a palm on the table and flags down a waitress, amid cheers from the little table.

"Okay, so small-town Ohio," Alex continues once they've ordered their drinks. "What brought you to LA?"

Santana shrugs a little uncomfortably. "I don't know," she replies. "Just...life."

"She went to college in Boston," Brittany pipes in, to murmurs of interest.

"Doing...what, exactly? In school?" Rose asks, absently tearing a napkin to shreds.

"Chemistry." Santana sets her shoulders against the looks she knows are coming.

"What, and you bypassed med school?" Olivia lazily spins a ring on the table in a silver blur, until Meghan snatches it up and pockets it.

Santana ducks her head, uncharacteristically abashed. All of Brittany's girls are so..._perfect_. They're all gorgeous and shining underneath the lights of the bar, so full of life and energy, and they _never_ stop moving. Santana feels like a pock-marked hick from the back streets of Nowheresville, or, even worse, like an insecure high school cheerleader who has to get a boob job to be noticed. Regardless, she's uncomfortable and light-headed and she just wants to curl into Brittany and disappear from all these _questions_.

It turns out Brittany really is her guardian angel. "Come on you guys, lay off," she cuts in, eyeing the other girls reproachfully. "She didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition."

"_Nobody_ expects the Spanish Inquisition!" Anna crows, and she and Alex dissolve into laughter. Santana isn't the only one eyeing them dubiously.

"What, have you never seen that Monty Python sketch?" Alex asks breathily, wiping her eyes. They all shake their heads. "Well...fine then," she pouts, sinking back into her chair. The waitress arrives then with their drinks in a whirl of green and black fabric, bringing conversation to a pause as the girls divvy out their beverages.

"To Tuesdays!" Brittany proposes merrily, lifting her glass in a toast.

"Tuesdays!" The girls chorus, clinking their glasses. Santana catches on a little belatedly and hurries to drink with the others.

"So," Rose says, once they've set their glasses down, "anyone up for Never Have I Ever?" Meghan claps her hands, while Alex and Olivia cheer.

"I _love_ this game!" Brittany giggles, elbowing Santana playfully. Santana bumps her with her shoulder and grins.

"Better watch out - I'm a beast."

Olivia clicks her tongue. "You're _on_, Ohio," she says, narrowing her eyes in a very feline manner. "Let's see what you've got under the hood."

Santana bristles and is about to zing that catty stripper right back when Meghan announces, "I'll start!" The blonde runs her finger along the rim of her Natty Lite. "Never have I ever been out of the country."

"Really, Megs? _That's_ what you start with?" Rose protests, but she drinks anyways. Everyone but Meghan and Santana tips her glass.

"You've never been out of the country?" Brittany asks in surprise, her breath freshly scented with alcohol.

Santana shakes her head. "All of my family's basically come over from Mexico, so there's never been a need. And I...could never really afford it in college."

Brittany purses her lips and seems about to ask another question, but it's Alex's turn, and she loudly proclaims, "Never have I ever liked country music!"

"What the hell, man?" Meghan grumbles as she takes another sip and comes up spluttering. Santana groans and drinks as well.

"Okay, okay," Anna says, placing her hands on the table. "Never have I ever had a threesome."

"_What_?" One of the girls exclaims, and Olivia leans across the table to grasp Anna and Alex's hands in hers. "I can hook you up," she says seriously, and Santana laughs around a sip of Tequila Sunrise.

"You too?" Brittany asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. Santana giggles, already feeling the pleasant fuzz of alcohol clouding her inhibitions.

"College," she replies. "Great stuff, man, greeeeeat stuff."

Once the girls have set their glasses down, it's Santana's turn. She toys absently with her straw. "Never have I ever...been on TV or film." She blinks curiously as half the girls tip their glasses back, including Brittany.

"I tried out for _So You Think You Can Dance_," she answers after she's sipped her Highball. "A lot of us did, actually," she glances around. "Plus, when you wanna be a dancer, you weasel your way into screen time as often as you can."

"Your turn, Britt!" Rose calls out, and Brittany nibbles pensively on her lip.

"Never have I ever been to New York City," she states after a moment. This declaration shocks all the girls but Santana, and Brittany has to remind them to drink as they ply her with questions.

"I'm totally taking you next time I'm up visiting Sean," Meghan says, nodding affirmatively at Brittany. "My fiancé," she says to Santana.

"Wait, so how many of you guys are, like, married?" Santana breaks in, wrapping her hands around her drink.

"Meghan will be the first," Rose says, "at least among the girls here."

"Allison and Jaime are both married," Meghan adds. "And I'm the only one engaged." She eyes the table. "...Unless something's changed lately."

"Most of us are on the dating scene, though," Rose continues. "Like Alex and Anna." The girls in question grin and share a brief kiss.

"I don't dance, though," Anna clarifies.

"Britt and I are the only singles in the group," Olivia says mournfully, but reconsiders her wording when Rose shoots her a glare. "Okay, the only ones _unattached_."

"I hate the boundaries of relationships," Rose says loftily, tossing back her hair and taking a long gulp from her drink.

"I think we need another round," Meghan tells a nearby waitress, who nods and rushes off.

"Okay, go Rose!" Brittany says, licking obscenely at her straw. Santana curls her toes under the table, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. _This one, __single__?_

_ More for Santana, then._

She misses Rose's statement and takes a drink anyways, refocusing on Olivia, who reclaims the round with "Never have I ever had sex with a girl."

"That's hard to believe," Brittany whispers to Santana, and drinks. Santana obediently takes a sip - a delicious, very sweet-tasting sip. _Check and check_.

"Never have I ever had sex with a _guy_!" Alex declares, jovially skipping over Meghan. She leaps from her seat triumphantly as the entire table drinks. "Ah_-ha_! Take that!"

"Sit down, honey," Anna laughs, tugging her girlfriend back down.

The mood has been set, and the game advances with the questions trending darker and dirtier, especially as the drinks continue to disappear. Santana can feel the alcohol taking effect, dragging her mood down with it. She's always been a weepy drunk, and it's the bane of her existence when she goes out partying. Unfortunately, the other girls don't seem to be slowing down. _Strippers can hold their alcohol_.

"N'ver'ave I everrr cheated on anyone!" Brittany slurs joyfully, drawing curses from their companions. _Good god she's perfect_, Santana muses sorrowfully as she watches her bright blue eyes glitter. _Beautiful, sexy, and _moral_. We're perfect for each other_.

The very thought brings tears to her eyes, and she lets out a muffled sob that Brittany unfortunately catches. The cheer instantly dies from her face.

"Are you okay?" she asks very seriously, her eyes only twitching a little as she focuses in on Santana. "Have you been cheated on? Can I go kill the bastard?" she asks Santana, mistaking her rush of tears for a different sort of emotion.

"No, I'm - I'm - I need some air," Santana sobs, lurching from the table and heading towards the door. Brittany catches her halfway, encircling her wrist in a gentle, firm grip.

"Do you want me to call someone?" She asks, suddenly very sober.

"Quinn," Santana all but swallows the name as she obediently hands Brittany her phone. Brittany releases her and scrolls through Santana's contacts, while Santana catches her tears on her shirtsleeve.

"Hi, is this Quinn?" Brittany asks, covering her other ear to block out the bar noise. Even through her fog of misery, Santana is shocked by how remarkably sober Brittany is. "I'm a friend of Santana's. Yes, yes, she's okay." She tosses a doubtful glance over her shoulder just as Santana makes a disgusting snorting noise. "She needs a ride home, though." She pauses. "We're at The Element, on - oh, okay, you know where it is? Awesome. Yes. My name is Brittany, sorry." She tosses her hair over her shoulder. "Okay. Okay, great. Thank you so much, Quinn, I really appreciate it. Okay. See you soon." She clicks Santana's phone shut and hands it back to her.

"Quinn will be here in ten minutes," she says, her eyes big and bright. "She's very nice, though I don't think she appreciated being woken up." Santana chokes back a half-sob, half-giggle, which makes Brittany smile. "Come on, let's wait for her outside. We can get some air." She places a hand on Santana's lower back and gently steers her outside.

The cold air lets Santana begin to get a grip on herself, and she sniffles pitifully, wiping at her tears. "'M sorry, I cry 'lot when I'm drunk," she mumbles. Brittany rubs her back reassuringly.

"Don't worry about it. You also shouldn't have tried to keep up with us," she smiles gently. "Are you feeling okay? Nauseous at all?"

Santana wordlessly shakes her head. "My head hurts," she whispers. Brittany purses her lips and pulls Santana up against her side. She wraps her arms around her shoulders and nestles her head against her neck, gently beginning to card her fingers through Santana's hair.

The two of them stay like that until Quinn pulls up in a dark blue BMW. "Thanks so much for calling, Brittany," she says, ushering Santana off the street corner. "Sorry if she was any trouble." She shoots a glare over her shoulder as Santana curls up in a little ball in the backseat.

"No, not at all. Thanks for picking her up," Brittany smiles.

"Don't puke on the upholstery," Quinn hisses to Santana before slamming the door and hopping back into the front seat. She waves at Brittany and pulls away with the buzz of wheels on wet asphalt.

Brittany stares after the BMW for a few seconds before sighing and pulling out her own phone. "Jaime? Hi, it's Britt. Could you come and get me?"

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><p><strong>an: **holy fudge you guys, this one was looooong. I've literally been typing nonstop for the last two hours. But oh my lord was it fun. Poor drunk Santana ): and Quinn! I love throwing in people like Quinn. I'd love to see Quinn and Santana living as frenemies in LA. That's sitcom material.

Anyways, I want to thank you all again for all your wonderful favorites, your alerts, and your reviews. Especially those of you who have typed out such thoughtful responses! I really, really appreciate it. Every single email I get makes me smile. Thanks for making me write! Peace&Brittana.


	5. Chapter 5

**a/n:** Crimeny, I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated. Second semester was absolutely crazy - whenever I had time to write, I was too tired to do anything but curl up and catch up on my TV shows. But! Now I'm home for the summer, and while I won't have a whole lot of time, I'll certainly have more than I did during the school year. Plus, I miss writing Brittana.

Quick heads-up for any emetophobes out there - the beginning part of this chapter does contain vomit. Santana's pretty damn hungover.

I don't own Glee, check me out on Tumblr (chevalierdesfleurs - I've moved :3), and have a great one! Thanks again for sticking with me.

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><p><em>While the Angels Walk with the Lonely Ones<em>

Santana wakes up the next morning and promptly vomits, realizing once she finishes retching that she seems to have fallen asleep in the bathroom. She licks her lips (they taste revolting) and wearily ties her hair back in a rough bun before leaning over the toilet again.

It's a good half hour before she can move without vomiting. She leans back against the bathtub, whining deep in her throat as the cold tile burns through her thin shirt and makes her dizzy all over again.

"Fuck my life," she breathes, and gasps in another breath before moving to throw up another mouthful of bile.

The clock is chiming noon by the time Santana slowly shuffles into the kitchen, wrapped in a bathrobe and dripping from the shower. She wrings out her hair over the sink and squints out at the streets of Los Angeles. Not a whole lot of action at the moment.

She fumbles her way to a cup of Keurig Morning Brew and sinks into a chair at the breakfast table. There's a note at her place, scribbled on the corner of a legal pad in Quinn's neat writing.

_You were absolutely fucking wasted last night, and it was disgusting. I left you in the bathroom so you wouldn't hurl in your bed again. You can thank me later. Also I really hope you don't have work today._

_ I'm at Rachel's. You still have to make dinner tonight._

_ -Q_

Santana brushes the note to the side and concentrates fully on the warm vapors rising from her coffee mug. The mug is dark blue and has a chip on the handle, but it's smooth and lovely and still functional.

It's also from her ex-girlfriend.

Tori was a mess - their _relationship_ was a mess - and it has taken Santana years to think about her without feeling like her heart's being ripped into little tiny pieces. It's lovely to sip coffee from one of her mugs (the one that had escaped her china-throwing tantrums) and think about something entirely different. Some_one_ entirely different.

Santana's thinking about Brittany. She paws at her pocket for her phone and realizes she has no idea where it is; by the time she hunts it down (underneath the cabinet in the bathroom) and returns to the kitchen, her coffee has grown tepid, and she has four text messages and two missed calls to take care of.

Both the calls are from Rachel. Santana rolls her eyes and taps 'ignore' without a second thought. Two of the text messages are from Twitter. The others are from Robert, and Brittany.

Olivia Wilde was active on Twitter last night. Robert wants to know where the hell Santana is. The message from Brittany is short and sweet.

_I hope you're feeling okay today :[ drink lots of water!_

Santana taps back a quick reply. _Haha thanks sweetie! Hangovers are a bitch._ She eyes her phone critically before going back and deleting 'sweetie.'

She deletes the updates from Twitter, lets Robert know she's not dead in a ditch somewhere, and wearily sets her phone to the side. Just as she pulls her hand away, it lights up with a new text message.

_I'm sorry :[ that sucks. if it makes you feel any better, a few of the girls have wicked awful hangovers as well._

Santana smiles and slicks her thumb over her phone's screen. _Not gonna lie, that does help a little bit. So I know I'm not a TOTAL lightweight_.

She pauses for a moment and opens another text to Brittany. _Thank you for last night, btw :)_

Oh god, that sounds like they had a one night stand. Santana makes a face but sends it anyway. She gets a reply almost instantly.

_It was no problem :) Any time, sweetie._

Santana spends the majority of the day nursing a half-gallon of coffee, dodging between the couch and the toilet, and texting Brittany. The conversations are easy and light-hearted, and Santana can't help but smile like a crazy person whenever her phone lights up.

Like now. _Is it socially acceptable to wear a Snuggie if I put a belt around it?_

Santana claps her hand to her mouth as her laugh comes out in an undignified snort. _No. Definitely not. _She types out. _Even on you that'd be pushing it ;)_

Brittany's warned her that her texts will be sporadic; she's at her day job, teaching dance classes. But Santana still gets nervous whenever there's a gap that seems a little too long. She's sitting cross-legged on the couch, toying nervously with her phone as she waits out one of these gaps, and her phone lights up. She snatches it up and is met with disappointment when she sees Robert's name on the screen.

She scowls and hits 'ignore' (a little more aggressively than needed), letting the call go to voicemail. Santana taps out a quick text message before Robert can try again.

_I told you I'm alive, okay? Chill the fuck out._

His reply comes almost instantly. _Why the hell aren't you at work?_

Santana casts a distracted glance at the clock on the wall. Just after seven. She blows her bangs out of her face with an annoyed _huff_ and slides open her phone to reply to the text.

_I'm hungover as all hell. like I was still throwing up at six pm._

_today's my day OFF, idiot_

She snaps her phone shut and tosses it to the side, letting herself sink back into the couch cushions. A rerun of Grey's Anatomy is playing on the TV, and her eyes are blurred with half-sleep when her brain registers that there's a knock at her door.

A knock. Which means a person. Santana sits up so fast she gets dizzy. "Shit shit _shit_," she hisses under her breath, leaping off the sofa and lunging for the door, because all she can think is _Brittany_ and holy sweet Jesus she is _not_ attractive right now.

She pauses for a brief second by the hallway mirror and bites her lip in dismay before dragging her tangled hair into a haphazard ponytail. The knock echoes off her door again, and Santana's heartrate doubles. "Coming!" she calls, her voice high and embarrassingly breathless.

Her fingers are wrapped around the handle when a rough and distinctively _male_ voice scoffs, "It's about time."

Santana freezes and rises onto her toes to glance through the peephole. Robert's red scruff is just visible. She drops back onto flat feet with a sinking heart.

"Fuck off!" she yells through the door, slapping her hand against the wooden frame for emphasis.

"I'm not going anywhere, so you might as well let me in," Robert yells back. Santana bites her lip, exhales a frustrated _huff,_ and reluctantly unfastens the deadbolt and chain. Robert goes for the doorknob as soon as he hears the faint _click_, and he nearly opens the door on Santana.

"Sorry," he says automatically as she steps out of the way, scowling, and dodges around to close and lock the door behind him.

"Why are you here? I told you I was okay," Santana folds her arms stubbornly across her chest, trying to ignore the fact that she's in nothing but an oversized T-shirt and spandex.

Robert gives her a look like she's suddenly started speaking German. "And I had to come check on you," he replies slowly, as if Santana's just a little bit stupid.

"Why? I'm a big girl, I can handle myself." Santana shoots him a half-hearted glare before stalking back towards the kitchen. It's time for more coffee. Robert dogs her heels.

"_Because_ you went out drinking with a bunch of people you didn't know, then came back and ignored my calls all day." He leans back against the counter as Santana fusses with the coffeepot.

"They were just girls, Rob. It wasn't like I was going to get raped or anything."

Robert steps between her and the coffeemaker, effectively stopping her in her tracks. "Don't say that," he says very seriously, his eyes blue and bright as they lock onto hers.

Santana backpedals. She forgets sometimes. "I - I'm sorry. For, um, ignoring your calls and stuff." Robert still looks solemn, so she reaches out and touches his shoulder. "I'm _fine_. Just super hungover." Santana abandons the coffee and turns to go back to her couch and Grey's.

"I can't believe I forgot it was your day off," Robert says wryly from somewhere behind her. Santana hides a smile.

"Yeah, thankfully _I_ didn't." She flops back onto the couch cushions and wriggles happily under a blanket. Robert's looking at her from the kitchen, the beginning of that goofy smile on his face.

Santana sighs and rolls her eyes. "C'mere, Rob. I know you love this episode." Robert perks up and immediately comes over, flopping down next to her like an oversized puppy.

"Can we watch Deadliest Catch next? There's a marathon this afternoon." He snatches the other blanket and pulls it over him. Santana shrugs in assent and tosses him the remote.

"It's all yours, pretty boy."


	6. Chapter 6

**a/n: **good evening, bao-beis! hope you're having a lovely month of June :] enjoy the chap - it's shortish, but a new one's already in the works!

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><p><em>While the Angels Walk with the Lonely Ones<em>

Santana's not exactly sure how she feels about going to work. On one hand…it's work. She'll get leered at by sweaty men all evening, and by the end of the night she'll smell like liquor and cranberry juice.

It's the Brittany factor that's throwing her for a loop. Santana _wants_ to see her – she honestly does – but at the same time, she'd much rather hole up in her apartment for the next couple of months. Or at least until she can forget about last night.

Unfortunately, Santana doesn't really have a choice. If she's going to eat, she needs to go to work. So she swallows what's left of her pride and gets on with it.

Brittany finds her at the bar an hour into her shift. Santana doesn't realize until she looks up from serving drinks to be greeted by her favorite pair of blue eyes.

"How are you feeling?" Brittany asks. _Fuck_, her eyes are blue, and Santana can see the concern glittering in their depths. She didn't know her stomach was capable of so many complex acrobatics.

Olivia and Alex are with Brittany, and Santana can't help but eye them – Olivia's lingerie hugs her chiseled hipbones with a sort of scandalous delicacy, and Alex has glitter streaking her teased curls. Alex flicks her a casual wave, while Olivia just smirks.

"Um, fine." Santana snaps back to the present and turns her attention to Brittany. "Feeling a lot better, thanks."

"I'm glad." Brittany's smile leaves Santana absolutely breathless. Literally. Santana's trying to remember how to breathe when Alex pipes in.

"We were just saying how much fun we all had with you the other night," she says with a smile. Alex looks _way_ too innocent to be a stripper, Santana thinks, even with the glitter in her hair. The other girls prowl the bar like panthers, and even Brittany (or rather, _especially_ Brittany) has a sort of effortless sensuality that pours off her in waves.

"You should totally come out again sometime." Olivia's voice has dropped to a low, sexy purr, and Santana knows she isn't just imagining the way the brunette is jutting out her chest.

"Totally," Brittany shoots Olivia a look before turning her gaze back to Santana. "We're going out again on Friday, if you'd like to join us."

Santana twists a dishtowel around her hands, shaking out the crumbs collected off the bar. "What's today, Thursday?" The girls nod. "Yeah, I should be able to." Santana smiles, though she feels her stomach clench at the idea of more alcohol. Brittany seems to sense her discomfort and leans in, propping her elbows against the bar.

"I'm probably just going to be dancing, if you don't want to rage again. It's really more of a party than a club."

"Anna's hosting it," Alex says shyly, naming her pretty girlfriend that Santana remembers meeting at the Element.

Santana hesitates. Brittany's lips wilt in the shadow of a pout. "Pleeeease?"

Hah, like Santana ever had a chance. She shakes her head with a smile. "All right, I'm in." Alex claps her hands together, while Brittany cheers and does a little fist-pump.

"All right, we should probably get back," Brittany says reluctantly, checking her watch and sending a glance back towards the dressing room. She brings her gaze back around and locks eyes with Santana. "I'll see you later, then?"

"Definitely," Santana grins. Brittany's smile grows to match hers, and she blows her a little kiss before flouncing back off towards the back, her friends in tow. Olivia pauses at the bar for a split second, sliding her fingers coyly over Santana's hand, then slinks off into the back.

It can't be more than five minutes later that Santana's phone lights up with a text from Brittany. _Sorry about Olivia_, it says. _She's…working through some things. Meaning she's in major flirt-mode. I've told her to back off a little bit, but let me know if she gets out of hand_.

When Robert saunters over a few minutes later, Santana's still staring at the message. "Ooh, what's that?" He asks, plopping down on his usual corner barstool. Santana wordlessly hands over the phone. Robert scans the text and then tosses it back – _literally_ tosses. Santana ends up getting on her hands and knees to fish her phone out from under the bar.

"What does it mean?" Robert asks, once Santana is back on her feet.

"I…don't know," Santana frets, worrying at her lower lip with her teeth. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."

"_Was_ Olivia flirting with you?" Robert prods.

"I mean…I guess? She was sticking out her boobs and stuff," Santana grumbles. "But, like, she's a _stripper_."

"Does Brittany stick out her boobs on a regular basis?" Robert tries to bite back a grin. He fails spectacularly.

"_No,_" Santana snaps back. "But she's not, like, a typical stripper." She sighs dramatically and slaps her hands to her face. "I don't _know_, Robert!"

"What makes you think _I_ know?" She can hear the smirk in Robert's tone, even with her eyes closed. It serves to make her even more frustrated, and she can feel her composure slipping away.

"_You've been dating women longer than I have_!" It's way, _way_ too loud, and Santana can feel the stares of the patrons prickling at her bare shoulders. Great. Even _more_ horny men to deal with.

And that's when Robert loses it. He breaks into laughter – full on belly-laughter that draws curious glances from the other patrons. Santana yanks her hands away from her face and slaps him on the arm.

"Are you going to help me, or are you just here to act like a drunk moose?" She barks, flourishing her hand in the 'ready' position for another slap. Robert wipes at his eyes a final time, still grinning.

"I mean, I _guess_ I can help you out for the next few minutes. I'm still on break," he chortles. He bends his fingers in a beckoning gesture, and Santana passes over the phone again. Robert reads it a second time, pursing his lips, suddenly all business.

"It's…pretty straightforward, San."

"That's what makes me nervous," Santana snaps. "Like…why does she _care_ if Olivia hits on me?"

Robert's expression is slowly morphing into one of pity. "Do you want me to tell you what you're already thinking and just don't want to admit?" He pauses for dramatic effect. "Because she _likes you_. She's jealous of the attention Olivia's giving you and doesn't want you getting hurt. Or," another dramatic pause, "she just wants you aaaaaall to herself."

Santana watches him for a long moment, chewing on her lip. Robert can almost hear the gears in her head turning as she processes. She finally snaps to attention.

"Get out of here, Rob. I've got people to serve." She turns her back to him, flicking her dark ponytail derisively, and stalks away. Robert chuckles to himself, loitering on the stool another moment before shoving off and returning to work.

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><p><strong>thanks for reading, my loves! lemme know what you think!<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: **Do I get bonus points for a super-long update? :D?

Also, I'd just like to say how much I love my readers, especially **inarticulation** and **JF1993. **These two are the QUEENS of beautiful reviews, leaving lovely, well-thought-out comments on _every chapter_. I appreciate you two from every corner of my soul. Thanks for keeping me going :)

And without further ado, let's see what's going on back in LA! There is more language in this chapter, so if f-bombs bother you, read with discretion. I blame Santana.

Enjoy, my loves!

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><p><em>While the Angels Walk with the Lonely Ones<em>

The skies have darkened and are looming ominously over Los Angeles when Santana makes it to work Friday afternoon, twenty minutes late.

"You're late," Kurt drawls from just inside the entrance. Santana squints at him in the dim light and flips him the finger.

"Think I don't know that? I lost track of time." She slings her bag onto the floor behind the bar.

"Doing what, I wonder." Kurt gives Santana a very obvious once-over and rolls his eyes before sauntering away. Santana's eyes drift down to her outfit in spite of herself. She's a little more dressed up for work than usual, with bangles clinking on her wrists and a thick silver necklace cascading from her neck. Her hair is still warm from the flatiron.

Because today is Friday, and tonight she's going out with Brittany. The thought sends a little tingle up her spine, and she shivers pleasantly. There are no official plans laid out; Alex figures they can leave after work and take a handful of cars with a designated driver or two. Santana had volunteered for the role after realizing that the very _thought _of alcohol made her nauseous - and after Brittany had made it clear that Santana didn't have to drink to impress her.

Santana is in the process of pulling her hair up into a ponytail when Alex stops by the bar. "You ready for tonight?" She asks cheerily, her silver eyeshadow sparking in the lights from the bar. Her hair is loose about her shoulders and her makeup is half done, but she still looks stunning.

"Yes ma'am," Santana replies, mouthing a bobby pin as she pulls her fingers through her thick hair. "Are you?"

Alex surprises Santana as her lips curl into a smirk. "Oh yeah," she says. "Any party at Anna's house means action for Alex." She winks coyly at Santana, who grins in return.

"Hopefully Santana'll get a little action as well," she mumbles. Alex positively beams.

"Anna and I will introduce you to some folks. You're gay, right?" Santana nods. "Cool. We'll get you plugged in to our little community here at McLaren's."

"Is Brittany coming?" The question slips out before Santana can catch it, and she tries to keep from blushing. Only a certain blonde can send her from cool to chaos in a matter of seconds.

Thankfully Alex is otherwise occupied, tugging at a strap on her shoe. "I'm assuming so. She's super late for work though. Can I get the tray of drinks she usually picks up?"

Santana fixes the drinks on autopilot, hardly noticing as Alex chirps a goodbye and returns to the dressing rooms. She's astonished she hadn't noticed anything - Brittany always stops by the bar to exchange chitchat, and her shift started more than an hour ago. Santana checks her phone, her eyes narrowing in concentration as she taps out a message to Brittany.

_Everything ok?_

She hits 'send' and slides her phone back into her pocket with a little twinge of worry.

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><p>Three hours later, Santana still hasn't heard from Brittany. Checking her phone has become a nervous tic; the screen is always within sight, from the bar to the bathroom and back. Watching the dancers onstage is almost too much, so she positions herself with her back to the pulsing lights and acrid-scented fog.<p>

This is definitely not one of her better nights. Santana's twitchy as all hell, and her work is showing it. Her tips are embarrassingly low, and several particularly annoyed patrons even threaten to contact her manager. Yeah, like Oliver really cares if Santana dumps soda water on a couple of co-eds. (He probably does, but that's beside the point)

Even Robert can't manage to distract her tonight – it takes Blaine pulling her away from the bar, his hands gentle on her shoulders as he steers her to a quiet corner.

"What's up with you?" He asks softly, pitching his voice under the music throbbing through the other room. Santana breaks loose, bats at his hands and tries to stalk away, but Blaine isn't stupid. He neatly sidesteps into her path, effectively driving her back to the corner.

"Nothing," Santana spits, her eyes flashing with frustration as she tries to dodge past him again. "Get out of my _way_, Blanders. I have work to do."

"Not the way _you're_ moving tonight, you're not," Blaine replies calmly. "I mean, I've certainly seen you spill drinks before, but never twelve in one night. By accident, anyways," he amends after a moment's pause.

The number hits Santana where Blaine's words hadn't, and she deflates visibly. "I was supposed to have a date with Brittany tonight," she says, her voice so soft that Blaine has to lean in to catch her words. "But she stood me up."

Blaine makes a noise of disbelief. "I'll believe that when I see it. Want me to go talk to her?" He makes a motion towards the dressing room. Santana shakes her head.

"She's not here tonight, though she's supposed to be. And she's not answering my texts." She could kick herself for how forlorn she sounds, but right now that's not the most pressing thing on her mind.

Blaine arches an eyebrow. "So…you think she skipped work to blow off your date?"

Santana immediately stiffens. "Well, it sounds stupid when you say it like _that_, but…yeah."

Blaine has opened his mouth to respond when Santana's phone buzzes in her pocket like an insistent hornet. She dives for her pocket and ends up elbowing Blaine in the jaw before she comes up successful.

"Is it from Brittany?" Blaine asks, wincing and rubbing his jaw ruefully.

"Yes," Santana breathes, her fingertips trembling as they hover over the incoming text. She's about to shove her phone at Blaine and make _him_ open it when her fingers dip a little too low and inadvertently touch the screen.

_Ehh, not really, but thanks for asking! I woke up wicked sick this morning, so I've been spending my day on the sofa :/ Sorry for not answering your text earlier!_

Santana lets out a deep, long breath that's so fraught with relief, she gets dizzy.

"See? She wasn't standing you up," Blaine says, chin on her shoulder in an affectionate gesture that Santana almost brushes off based purely on principle. But she has a glowing text message from Brittany in her hand, and all is now right with the world.

"Okay, Blanders, back to work," Santana says, her eyes not leaving her phone as she absently ducks Blaine and heads back to the bar.

"You're welcome!" Blaine calls from over her shoulder, but Santana's state of awareness has shrunk to the rectangular screen in front of her.

_It's no problem! I was just worried is all._

She eyes the last phrase critically before continuing on.

_Anything I can do? Like bringing soup after work or something_?

SEND. Santana pockets her phone and slides back into position in front of the familiar rows of glistening bottles.

This time, Brittany replies within seconds. Santana pauses halfway through wiping down the counter to check the reply.

_Haha thanks but no thanks. Don't think I could keep down soup anyway. (TMI? Lol) _

Santana is midway through typing an answer when another text from Brittany lights up her phone.

_Ahh, fuck. Sorry about the party tonight. I guess there's no way I'm going :/_

The fact that _Brittany_ is the one to bring it up makes Santana's heart beat just a little bit faster. She wasn't planning to mention it (no use making Brittany feeling guilty – she couldn't help being sick, after all), but the fact that Brittany had remembered was enough to make her absolutely giddy.

Santana pauses mid-excited-bounce and actually slaps her palm to her forehead. "I'm a lovesick idiot," she says flatly. She smacks herself a couple of times for good measure before going back to work, this time with her phone on silent. Now that her love life is all straightened out, she has tips to earn.

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><p>Her shift passes in a blur. By the time Alex returns to the bar, Santana's wired with anticipation and late-night adrenaline.<p>

"Are you ready?" Alex chirps, leaning against the counter. Santana stacks the last couple of shot glasses and wipes her hands on a dishtowel, nodding.

"Is it okay if I just wear this? I wasn't planning to change." She glances down at her outfit. It's nice, but she's been wearing it all evening, and it's getting a little wrinkled.

"Yeah, no, you look lovely." Alex flashes her a smile. "Come on – the other girls are waiting out front."

"Who's coming?" Santana grabs her purse and obediently follows.

Alex purses her lips, tapping out people on her fingers. "Me, Olivia, Rose, Meghan, and Meghan's fiancé. And I think Anna's invited a few more people."

Santana feels a little coil of anxiety beginning to wind in her stomach. Those are the girls from The Element on Tuesday night. When she had proved herself a total lightweight. Also, the fact that _Olivia_ is on the list doesn't make her any more comfortable. The blonde had been straight-up bitchy when they'd all gone out, but then she'd had her total 180 and started trying to get her hands up Santana's skirts.

It's all very confusing.

Santana bites back a sigh as they step into the warm night air. Alex immediately takes charge, directing the assembled dancers into two groups like she's a crossing guard.

"Okay, Rose and Meghan have volunteered to be designated drivers, so the rest of us are free to booze it up, as long as we're riding with one of them. Are we clear?" There's a murmur of assent, and Alex claps her hands together with a grin.

"All right, then! Let's go get some." She skips off towards the parking lot, arm-in-arm with two girls Santana doesn't recognize from the back. Santana falls in line behind Meghan (she vaguely remembers her being sweet, plus she has a fiancé so she's less likely to hit on her) and crosses her fingers that the evening will be okay, even without Brittany.

Olivia spins and sends Santana a wink so salacious it sends chills of disgust up her spine. Nope. Definitely not going to be okay.

* * *

><p><em>Warm. Warm and sticky and cold alcohol, spread all over her tongue but also other places – like the floor, why the fuck is her drink on the floor? Kneeling, rough carpet and torn kneecaps, then touch - Sparks and tongue and a warm mouth on hers, filling Santana with lust and power and blood (why is there blood? maybe she's bit her lip) It's incredibly intoxicating – more so than the alcohol ever could be, and Santana spirals down into a simpler world where nothing matters but touch.<em>

_She is nothing more than a nerve cell, vibrating with anticipation in the void of cold and of dark uncertainty and loneliness._

_Santana is most fluent in the language of touch._

* * *

><p>"Mornings after" are always excruciating. Santana may party like a rock star, but she certainly lacks the alcohol tolerance of one. At least she has a talent for getting back home.<p>

The sun is like a grenade, hissing into her foggy mind and leaping into an explosion without so much as a warning. Santana bites back nausea and rolls over, burying her head under her pillow. Maybe if she closes her eyes, it will go away.

The door to her bedroom creaks open, dashing her hopes with a sound like Rachel Berry's voice.

"Santana, are you awake?"

Oh, crap. That _is_ Rachel Berry's voice. A groan slides from Santana's lips and she burrows more tightly under her covers. Maybe this is all a dream. An awful, Berry-infested dream. If she closes her eyes, she'll go away.

Rachel doesn't seem to be getting the memo. "Sant_aaaa_naaaaa," she draws it out into a melody and – goddammit – she _continues_, trying to harmonize with herself and everything. Santana rouses in an instant, slinging a pillow across the room in half the time it takes her to think about it.

"Fuck off, Berry," she rasps, her voice hangover-ragged.

"Sorry, Santana – Quinnie sent me to make sure you're not dead," Rachel replies, ducking another pillow and straightening her beret with haughty dignity.

"_Don't call me that!_" Quinn's voice grates through the walls like a wood chipper, and Santana can feel her morning slowly going down the tubes.

"I'm up, I'm up. Go tell your girlfriend and leave me _alone_." She heaves herself out of bed and ushers Rachel out, slamming the door on her half-formed protests.

"She's not my girlfriend!" Rachel tries once more, before giving up and storming away - Santana can hear the dramatic thud of her patent-leather shoes against their floorboards.

"Yeah, you're just fucking each other," Santana breathes, too tired and hung-over to raise her voice to proper shouting range.

Speaking of fucking…

_Crap_.

Santana sinks back onto her bed, clapping her hands over her face with another moan. It's not that she doesn't _remember_ last night; she wasn't blackout drunk, but it was dark and loud enough that she isn't sure exactly whose collarbones she was nibbling on. Or who she kept making out with.

Santana scrunches her face against a stabbing headache and rolls over to reset her alarm. She can worry about that later. At work.

…_fuck_.


End file.
